(no subject)
I already posted this on THF a few days ago but for the sake of completeness, here it is again.
Title: The Ways of the World (3/?)
Pairings/Genre: Tom/OFC, Bill/OMC, Georg/OFC, lots of gen on the side
Rating: NC17
Summary: Much has changed for the better in Tom's life since he fell in love, but the world keeps spinning and the show must go on. Sequel to The Best Laid Plans.
Things did look more manageable after Tom had slept for the better part of three days. He wanted to feel guilty for wasting time when he had a long list of stuff to do, but he simply couldn’t; he always passed out before he could start beating himself up about it in earnest.
After they’d returned from the meeting at the studio, dutifulness had prevailed at first. He’d woken from a long nap in the early evening, still bleary and exhausted, but determined to get up and make the scheduled phone calls to David and Benjamin…if only his bed hadn’t felt so nice. It was soft and comfortable, and there was a warm body on either side of him.
Tom’s first, sleepy thought was that the dogs had figured out how to open his bedroom door and gotten into bed with him, but then he’d realized that their puppies didn’t smell like roses, and they were still at Simone’s house, where the twins had dropped them off before they left to hit the road. He’d opened his eyes to the warm, golden glow of Erika’s hair shining in the dim light of the room, finding her tucked against his side, sound asleep. He’d curled around her instinctively; his arms were tight around her waist, and his hands had found their way under her t-shirt while he slept. On his other side, Bill was twitching restlessly in sleep like he always did, making strange noises and tangling his long limbs with Tom’s. The bed should’ve felt too small for all of them to share, but right then, Tom couldn’t imagine anything more cozy. He buried his face in the crook of Erika’s neck, inhaled her flowery perfume and went right back to sleep, wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of having everything he needed right there.
Outside, a thick layer of snow had fallen overnight, covering the house under a white blanket that glittered in the morning sun when he’d woken again to find Erika gone and a wonderful breakfast smell wafting through the house. It had become a routine over the next few days: sleep; shuffle down into the kitchen where she’d be bustling about dressed in one of his sweatshirts and little else; eat whatever she put in front of him; shower; go back to sleep. Tom had done a few chores and made his business-related phone calls in between, dutifully taking notes of everything because he knew he’d forget all about the conversations straight away in his limbo state between sleep and full awareness, but that had been the extent of his efforts to be professional. Sometimes, they just needed a break.
His and Bill’s sleeping patterns aligned themselves easily after the initial tiredness had worn off, but they didn’t do much more than grunt at each other when they wandered into the kitchen at the same time. They didn’t need to talk; Tom saw the lines under his twin’s eyes fade, the pasty color of his face give way to a healthier glow with each meal Erika fed him, and it was all he needed to know that Bill was okay. Other than that, he was glad that his brother had graciously retreated to his own bedroom, so Tom could finally give his girlfriend the attention she deserved. Making love to her at last felt as vital as satisfying all his other physical needs. He had missed it; missed her in all her sweetness that could pull him back from the brink of desperation even when Tom felt like it was all too much, and he’d gladly sleep his life away.
On the fourth day back, he woke to white, brilliant sunshine. His room was lit up, and when he sat up in bed, he could see the bare treetops outside his window glittering with a sheen of frost. It was a beautiful day. In his warm, comfortable bed, Tom stretched languidly, feeling a little like a kid on winter holiday. It was almost Christmas; he was home, he had the day off, and his head had finally stopped hurting. If there’d been a pretty little blonde in his bed, the pretty little blonde he’d grown so fond of, life would’ve been perfect.
He was alone though, and Erika’s side of the bed was cold. Tom hugged her pillow, breathing in the scent of her. It was all over his bed and his room and his life, a permanent mark that made him smile. There’d been a time when he couldn’t have imagined sharing his bed, never mind having his own side and letting her have the other, depending on finding her there, beside him, every day. It was such a normal thing to enjoy, and Tom had never done normal, not in his entire life, but this, he loved.
He smoothed a hand over her pillow, then climbed out of bed, scratching his bare chest. The room was very warm, like every place that Erika inhabited, but it wasn’t unpleasant as he stood naked by the window, half-hidden behind the curtains, and looked out at the frozen world. Tom grinned. Maybe, if it snowed a little more, he could drag Bill outside for a snowball fight later.
He took his time in the bathroom, feeling relaxed for the first time in days as he went through his routine of shaving, showering, applying copious amounts of lotion. He rolled his dreads between his hands, twisting in front of the mirror, enjoying the way his body moved without aching again. Even the soreness in his bad arm had subsided. His limbs didn’t feel heavy with bone-deep tiredness anymore, just nicely slack with the satisfaction of a good orgasm, sweet relief to the frustration that had had his body coiled tight for weeks. It was certainly nice not to wake up with a raging hard-on.
Tom took his time selecting his clothes: jeans, t-shirts layered under a checkered flannel, a beanie, all blues and whites like the sky over the bright, snowy world outside. He made his bed, put away the worn socks and underwear that were scattered all around his room, then turned down the heating and opened a window to let in some air. He breathed deeply, enjoying the clean scent of winter. It would be nice to go for a walk today; he missed the dogs. Without them, frolicking in the snow wasn’t half as fun.
Downstairs in the kitchen, all was quiet, but he found that the table was set and a large dish of lasagna was waiting in the fridge for him to put into the oven. On his plate, there was a note from his girlfriend, reminding him that she’d gone to class in the morning and that she’d call later. He glanced at his watch. It was three-thirty in the afternoon, so ‘later’ was probably here now. On the answering machine, a blinking button alerted him to a call from his mom, who asked when they were coming to Magdeburg, and a call from Erika.
“Hey, are you still asleep?” she laughed. “It’s three o’clock and I’m home, my late classes were cancelled. I’ll try to work on our graffiti. Can you come over to my place tonight? Call me!”
Tom switched on the oven and put on the lasagna as the phone beeped with the number he had on speed dial. It took a while for Erika to answer the phone, and when she did, she was out of breath. “Hello?”
“What have you been doing?” Tom drawled wickedly.
“I was on the stepladder, painting,” she gasped. “And then I couldn’t find the phone anywhere.”
Tom didn’t let reality spoil his fantasies of why she might sound so breathless. A slideshow of colorful images played before his inner eye. He smirked to himself. “Is that why you want me to come over? To tidy up?”
“Yes, Tom, that’s why I keep you around,” she teased. “Did you just wake up?”
“Yeah, I’m making that lasagna right now.”
“Lasagna for breakfast,” she sighed, amused.
“You left it here for us to eat. So I’m eating it.” He fished a cigarette from his pack, then made a detour to the closet in the hall for his fluffy blue down jacket before he went out on the patio to smoke. “Thanks, by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “So what’s the plan for later?”
Tom released a long breath. Bluish smoke hung over him for a moment, sweetly fragrant, before it dissipated in the wind. The patio was bright with frosty, silvery sunshine. He sat down in a cold plastic chair, soaking up the weak rays. The sun did little to warm him, but he enjoyed the light that washed over him, chased away all the shadows. “There’s no plan,” he smiled. “I’m free to do whatever I want.”
“And does that include seeing me?” she asked coyly, and he could hear the smile in her voice.
“You know you’re my favorite thing to do,” Tom grinned.
“Your favorite thing!” She snorted out a laugh. “Eat your lasagna and then get over here, I need your help or my paint job is going to be a mess. I’m no good at graffiti.”
“You need practice, Sweet Buns.” Erika was kind and charming and beautiful, he thought wryly, but she was not patient, least of all with herself. In this, too, they understood each other. Tom had been trying to be more lenient, let go of his uptight need to get everything just right, but it was difficult when things weren’t going the way he wanted them to. “You can’t expect to pick up a spray can and do perfectly on your first try.”
“It’s not my first try.” She sounded disgruntled, and Tom had to smile. She’d drawn the most intricate, perfect piece in his sketchbook in preparation, a complicated ambigram of her name and his set into an ornamental pattern that picked up on the colors of the bright, vivid landscape he’d already sprayed on her other wall. He’d warned her that it was too fussy and detailed, but she hadn’t listened. She was very talented with traditional media, so she had a right to be a little cocky, but Tom had a feeling she had underestimated this particular art. “I did it once while you were away. The lines were all wonky. I had to paint over the entire wall.”
He laughed. “I’ll bring more spray can tips. Maybe it’s paint flow that’s the problem.”
“I think I’m the problem,” she sighed. “I need you, Tom.”
There was no naughty undertone to her voice just now, but Tom shivered pleasantly at her choice of words. He loved it when she said things like that, things that told him she was just as crazy for him as he was for her, and not just in the physical sense. It was easy to pick up on the wicked double-meanings and retort with a heated remark of his own, a dozen of which were at the tip of his tongue, but none of them conveyed the depth of what he felt for her. Sometimes, the truth didn’t need a lot of words. “Same, baby,” he said simply. “Always.”
Her breath hitched. “Mmm, you know what it does to me when you’re sweet.”
“No?” Tom said innocently, and she laughed.
“Get over here and find out, then,” she said and hung up, leaving Tom with a pleasant tingle in his belly that had nothing to do with hunger anymore.
It would be a shame to let Erika’s lasagna go to waste, though. He snuffed his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray on the garden table, where it hissed and sputtered for a moment against a thin layer of ice. He breathed on his cold hands. It was nice outside, but sitting around on his ass he was quickly starting to feel like a popsicle. Brushing off his feet on the doormat, he made his way back into the warm kitchen, where Bill had appeared, drawn by the smell of food, and was now shovelling an obscene amount of lasagna on a plate, his eyes still small and sleepy. He was wearing clingy boxer shorts and nothing else under his silly brown faux fur coat, looking like a very naughty, exhibitionist muppet.
“Hey,” Tom smiled.
“Hnngh,” Bill grunted. He scooped up the melting, cheesy top layer of his lasagna and stuffed it in his mouth, then shuffled over to put his arms around Tom and laid his head on Tom’s shoulder, chewing with his eyes closed.
Chuckling, Tom moved them both over to the kitchen counter, where he set about making coffee. They hadn’t spent much time together over the past few days. It felt weird after their recent road trip, where Bill had literally been within arm’s reach at all times. Tom missed it, the closeness, but more than that, he missed the calm he felt when Bill was around, the inexplicable connection between their minds and souls that he could sense when they were just sitting in silence together, or chatting about idle, unimportant things. In those quiet moments, Tom felt centered, balanced, like their coming together made them whole.
Bill seemed to feel the same way, because he was trying his best to fuse them together physically, too. He clung to Tom’s middle with grabby hands that fisted in his shirt. “Tooom,” he yawned, “I just can’t think of the right thing!”
Tom blinked. Starting up conversations in the middle instead of at the beginning wasn’t unusual for them, but he needed a little prompting here. “Right thing?”
“To write back,” Bill elaborated. He squinted at Tom, saw him raise his eyebrows quizzically, and went on, “to Robert.”
“Ah.” Tom had forgotten all about him. So much for their famed mind-melt. Grumbling, he shrugged, disentangling himself from Bill so he could put a mug of coffee in his brother’s hand. “He wrote? A letter?” The guy was certainly retro enough to rely on snail mail like their grandparents.
Bill’s nose scrunched up. “No, he texted me, silly.” He took a long drink of coffee, sighing blissfully. When he put the mug down, he looked much more alert. “Here.” He fished his cell phone from the pocket of his coat and handed it over.
Tom scrolled through the recent messages, from Andi and their mom and himself. The most recent one was simply marked ‘from: R’ and thanked Bill for the lovely talk the two had had; maybe they could meet up again sometime? The text was short and sweet, but signed ‘yours, Robert’. Tom snorted - who signed their text messages, anyway? - and then he glanced at the date. Three days ago. Surprised, he looked back at his twin. “You haven’t replied yet?”
“No.” Bill ducked his head, embarrassed. “I didn’t know what to say.”
Tom stared. This sort of thing was so completely unlike Bill, it took a moment to process. “You didn’t know what to say. You. Didn’t know.”
“I don’t know, I just didn’t want him to think I was…weird.”
That was a valid concern; Bill’s texts to Tom were usually a jumble of typos and abbreviations, and while Tom was fairly sure Bill toned down the shorthand when he texted others, his non-sequiturs had been known to give people whiplash. Tom’s brow furrowed. “Not replying at all is weird, isn’t it?”
“I know,” Bill said sheepishly. He plucked the phone from Tom’s hand and read through the message again. His frown eased. He sighed. “He’s so nice.”
“So it’s not that you don’t want to see him again?” Tom found that he’d momentarily hoped the thrill of meeting someone new had worn off with a few days’ rest and Bill not being as strung out. He shuffled his feet. He and Bill were as close as two people could be, and they trusted each other implicitly, but Tom couldn’t suppress the niggling feeling of unease that bit at his insides like green, toxic acid when he saw his brother behave this way, so unlike himself. He wasn’t used to this Bill. It was disconcerting. In his mind, he could all but hear Erika’s voice chiding him gently for his inflexible ways, and that was annoying, too.
“No, I do. I want to.” Bill turned wide, incredulous eyes on his twin, as if he couldn’t believe Tom would ask such a thing, even though they hadn’t even known the handsome stranger a week ago. Tom hadn’t seen him take to anyone so quickly ever since they’d adopted the dogs from the shelter. “I just don’t want to mess up.”
Tom released a long breath. “Just text him back that you’d like to see him, how hard can it be?” Even he had managed to maintain a relationship, after all. If Tom could do it, Bill could, too, but that was all the encouragement he was going to get from Tom. If Bill didn’t seize his chance…well, that wasn’t Tom’s fault.
“But he’s going to wonder why I didn’t reply sooner.” Bill poured himself a second, fortifying cup of coffee, adding about a pound of sugar. “Do I explain?”
“He’s lucky you’re replying at all,” Tom said acridly, and his twin glanced up from the sugar pot, amused.
“Jealous? Oh, please.”
It wasn’t that. Well, it wasn’t just that. Tom glared, and with a chuckle, Bill set down his mug and hugged Tom again, ignoring his feeble resistance and wiggling his way back into Tom’s arms, where he clung, breathing deeply, calmly, in and out. Tom could feel his twin’s heartbeat, pressed chest to chest as they were. It was soothing.
“How much do you love me?” Bill whispered, a warm brush of air on Tom’s neck.
“You know that, you don’t have to ask,” Tom said gruffly. The fur of Bill’s coat tickled his nose. He made a face.
Bill chuckled. “Do you love me any less since you’ve met Erika?”
“Of course not.” The mere thought was ludicrous.
“And yet, you love her too,” Bill said wisely.
Tom shifted restlessly from left foot to right. “Yes.”
“And not just a little.” Bill sounded pleased at that. He drew back slightly to look into Tom’s eyes. “If - if! - I fall in love with anyone, it’s going to be just like that. There’ll be double the love, not half.”
“I know.” It was impossible to doubt Bill’s capacity to love; he embraced life with such exuberance, Tom would never accuse him of not having enough feeling to go around. On the contrary - perhaps Bill had too much of it. Tom clutched at his shoulders, shaking his twin gently. “I just, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Why’d you think I would?” Bill asked with genuine curiosity. “Don’t you like Robert?”
Tom hesitated for a moment, unsure what to say, how to explain. “Yes, but… Who knows, anything could happen.”
“Yes, it could,” Bill smiled. “Isn’t that the point?”
Tom huffed. He liked to plan, organize, make sure everything in life had its place and right time. Surprises were unsettling to him, but not to Bill, he lived day to day to the fullest, without concern for what others thought of what consequences might befall him for the impulsive decisions he made. They balanced each other like that, but if Bill fell in love, that was an adventure Tom couldn’t set out on with him. It was outside his control.
Tom didn’t like things out of control.
“I suppose,” he sighed. “Just be careful, okay?”
Bill rolled his eyes in that derisive manner he displayed whenever he found Tom overbearing and silly. “You say that every time I want to do something fun. Mood killer!”
“Do not!” Tom protested.
Bill laughed. “Yes, you do. When I went for my tattoos, when I wanted to go skydiving, when I agreed to do Dan and Dean’s show, and really, Tom, what did you think could happen on a runway--”
“Sorry for worrying about you,” Tom snapped. He drew in on himself like a turtle, his arms hugged around his narrow chest.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Bill assured him, much more confident now. As ever, when Tom expressed doubts about something, Bill gained optimism for them both. In that way, they fed off each other, too; kept the precarious balance that was needed for their crazy lifestyle. “Really! I’m not getting my hopes up yet that he even likes me that way.”
But that wasn’t quite true; Tom could see all of Bill’s hopes and dreams in the faraway look in his eye, in the soft, tentative curve of his smile as he read through the message on his phone once more, then stuffed it into the inside pocket of his coat, hidden away like a secret love letter. Be careful, Tom wanted to say again, but he bit his lip and kept silent.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Bill was poking at the vegetables in his lasagna, not even looking back at Tom, but he could probably feel the weight of Tom’s stare on him. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Honestly, Tom, imagine if I’d made such a fuss every time you went off with one of your dispensable lovers.”
Tom thought that had been rather different - he had never been at risk of getting his heart broken. “I haven’t had a one-night stand in almost two years. And when I had them, you weren’t very pleased with me either.”
“But I didn’t guilt you into not having them.”
“I’m not guilting you!” Tom protested loudly.
“No? Then please stop looking like the world is about to end. It’s a beautiful day!” Bill made a grand gesture with his hand. Behind the kitchen window, the world sparkled under layers of bluish ice and snow. Bill inched closer to the glass, drawn by the diamond shimmer of the sun dancing over the frozen surface. “We should build a snowman.”
Tom snorted. “Later, okay? I’ve plans to go see Erika.”
“Now?” Bill nodded his assent. “Okay. I’ll drop you off, I need to go do some Christmas shopping.”
Tom released a long sigh. Christmas shopping was just a welcome excuse for Bill to self-indulge after their agreement, months ago, that Tom would stop buying sneakers if Bill stopped buying luxury accessories, all in an effort to keep their credit card bill manageable. Bill had been pining after diamond-studded belt buckles and platinum skull rings ever since. Tom didn’t want to be there when he was let loose after a four-month spending lockdown. “Let’s just give everyone cards and a hug.”
Bill looked much like the Yeti on amphetamines as he flapped his arms in the silly fur coat, outraged. He made a low, grumbly noise to match. “Cards and a hug! What sort of shitty Christmas would that be?”
“One that will be followed by lots of studio time, for which we will need to hire a sound tech,” Tom sighed. “Bill, seriously.”
His twin was undeterred. “I’m not going to go overboard,” Bill promised. He held up two manicured fingers with a centimeter of space between them, giving Tom a puppy dog look from wide brown eyes. “Just something small - really, really small - for mom? And Gordon? And me?”
“You’re not getting a gift,” Tom stated to the whiny sound of Bill’s disappointment trying to weasel its way into Tom’s heart. “We don’t do gifts, remember?”
“But…” Bill let his lower lip quiver pitifully. “If I can’t buy myself stuff anymore, and you’re not going to, how am I going to properly accessorize?”
“Maybe Dan and Dean will send you a care package,” Tom said, changing the subject shortly. “You’re taking Michael, right?” Retaining their group of bodyguards was a luxury these days, but one that Tom wasn’t yet sure they could do without. Things had calmed down considerably over the past few months; with Tom obviously committed to his girlfriend and Georg about to start a family, the less extreme fans had accepted that they needed some privacy and backed off, and even some of the more hardcore ones had finally given up on trying to get the guys to notice them. Still, there were the occasional trespassers, the curious neighbors, the haters who scratched up their cars, not to mention the crazy reporters, and Tom just didn’t feel like taking any risks, especially not with the lives of his girlfriend or his twin.
“Yeah, sure. Silly man didn’t sound excited, but I’ll give him a Christmas bonus.” Bill grinned evilly, then drained his mug and picked through the last of his lasagna for pieces he deemed edible. “I’ll go get dressed real quick.” And off he went, coat rustling, to do some overdue plucking and primping.
Tom sat down at the kitchen table, passing the time while Bill showered with a nice breakfast of lasagna. He was just done when his twin came skipping back down the stairs, dressed in huge combat boots paired with a flimsy black outfit of skinny jeans and a thin, silky shirt that was unbuttoned to show off his collarbones and the chunky silver necklace Bill was wearing. Tom put his plate and cutlery in the sink, sparing them both a comment about how Bill would surely catch pneumonia. It was a bit of a tradition that Bill caught cold over their Christmas holiday; Tom suspected that he enjoyed whining, and everyone around him catering to his every whim when he was ill.
“Ready?” Bill asked as he wound a chunky black scarf around his neck.
“Yeah. I’ll drive, okay?” Tom really missed his car, and besides, Bill’s driving made him carsick.
“Fine. You can drive us there, I’ll drive back.” With that ominous threat, Bill flung open the front door. “Come on, I told Michael to meet me at Erika’s. You know how he hates waiting.”
The bodyguard had a full day of standing around and waiting ahead if Bill was serious about getting his Christmas shopping done. Tom was glad that they’d agreed not to get each other presents years ago. Bill would cover the gifts for their family, which left Tom with only Erika to buy for. She probably would’ve been okay with a card and a hug - or a little more than a hug - but for her, he actually wanted to do something special.
“A box of pastels or a new bag?” he mused as he steered the car down their drive, carefully gaining speed once they hit the street, trying to get a feel for the frozen surface.
“You mean the Balenciaga she eyed at the shop when I went in for that great jacket?” Bill easily caught on to Tom’s thinking as always. Talking to his twin really was a bit like talking to himself. Tom shot him a grateful glance. He wasn’t sure he would’ve even been able to identify the exact bag Erika had liked, three months after their visit to that particular boutique.
“I should’ve bought that jacket,” Bill said mournfully. “I don’t care what you say, those gold sequins did look good on me.”
Tom didn’t dignify that with an answer. “So? The bag?”
“It was nice,” Bill nodded. “Shall I get it for you? Nothing says true love like expensive accessories.”
“Yeah, but her mom will buy her those,” Tom said. “But her parents never get her art supplies right, they don’t really pay attention to what she needs.”
Bill waved his hand. “Fine, so buy her those boring crayons.”
Tom was fairly sure Erika wouldn’t consider a deluxe wood box set of oil pastels ‘boring’, but it was true, they weren’t a particularly romantic present either. He’d have to think about delivery: he could get candles, chocolates, a nice bottle of champagne perhaps. And then he’d hide the gift in his bed, where he’d take her after a fancy dinner…
So lost in thought, Tom drove them through the long-familiar streets to Erika’s house. The city was crowded and busy with people rushing around, running Christmas-related errands. Shopping today would be a nightmare; surely, Bill would love it. Tom squeezed the car into the last spot, a little ways down the street from his girlfriend’s house. “Are you coming?” he asked Bill, who gathered his belongings - wallet, sunglasses, cigarettes, candy, tissues, notebook - from the different, overflowing compartments inside the car and stuffed them in his bag.
“Yeah, we’ll take Michael’s car when he gets here. Less conspicuous. I’ll just wait for him upstairs.”
They entered the house without attracting unwanted attention and took the wheezing elevator upstairs, where Nele opened the door for them and promptly disappeared into her room again, hissing something about homework and needing peace and quiet. Tom kind of regretted not bringing his guitar to practise and annoy her a little; he’d found, in his months of coming and going here, that Nele liked life argumentative, or she got bored. It was something he appreciated, having grown up with Bill.
“…So he starts taking off his clothes, and just when things get interesting, the professor brings out a fig leaf. An actual fig leaf! Can you believe it?” laughed a voice to the left.
Smiling, Tom shuffled down the hall to the living room, leaving Bill by the door to struggle with the woolly masses of his scarf. He peeked around the doorframe and found Erika sitting on the couch, scribbling on a stack of papers on her knees. Across from her sat Robert, lounging casually in a battered armchair and smoking his pipe. He was dressed in the same formal manner as before, but mirth crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look boyish and kind, much less rigid than his appearance would suggest at first. He had a nice smile, Tom thought when the pair in front of him laughed at the secret joke between them. Feeling a little out of place, he cleared his throat, and when she saw him, Erika’s face lit up further.
“Hey! It’s my favorite model. Come in,” she smiled, waving. “I was just telling Robert about the class I had this morning. We did sketches of the human figure.”
“Nice.” Tom raised his eyebrows at Robert. The guy seemed to have made himself a permanent fixture on what Tom considered his turf. “You really like it here, don’t you.”
“I brought our term paper for Erika to sign before I drop it off at the faculty’s mailbox,” Robert said calmly. “I was just about to…” His gaze shifted. He sat up straighter. “Oh. Hey.”
“Hey,” Bill said softly from behind Tom, and then Tom felt him breathe deeply in and out to calm himself, leaning in to Tom for support.
Jerkily, Tom pushed off the doorframe and stomped over to where his girlfriend was sitting, and Bill spilled gracelessly over the threshold into the room, coming to an abrupt stop on the ridiculously fluffy, pink rug that Nele said gave the room ‘character’. He shuffled his feet, embarrassed.
Tom felt Erika’s quizzical gaze on him and determinedly avoided her eyes. The whole thing was stupid. He wasn’t going to be a part of all that feet-shuffling, blushing and stammering that Bill and Robert were doing. Bill could hide behind someone else, or not hide at all for that matter, if he was going to do this. He was always going on about being open with his feelings, after all.
Tom had hated going through all the clichéd motions of the love game when it had been he who was sick with desire for Erika. Watching from the sidelines, if he thought about it, was hardly better.
“Um. Good to see you,” Bill ventured after a moment’s silence. He glanced at Erika momentarily, but the weight of his gaze rested on Robert. “I was going to text you, but I, well, honestly, I slept most of the past few days.” He smiled ruefully. “Sorry?”
“It’s fine,” Robert said. “It’s good to see you again, now that I can actually keep my eyes open.” He paused a moment, his eyes flickering down from Bill’s face to the toes of his boots and back like he wanted to commit every last detail about him to memory. “I was so tired, I wasn’t sure I hadn’t dreamed you.”
Bill bit his lip, trying and failing to contain a big smile. He laced his fingers together nervously, shrugging. “Nah. I’m all real.”
“Amazing,” Robert said, a smile in his voice.
Next to him, Tom could feel Erika humming with glee, her body wound tight like a coil, ready to spring the moment she was alone with him. He put his arm around her waist and pinched the fleshy curve of her hip, hard. She jumped, squeaking, and the others’ attention was effectively shifted to her.
“So,” Bill cleared his throat, “What’s the plan? Tom?”
“Graffiti, I think.” Tom glanced at his girlfriend, who nodded. “Didn’t you have shopping to do?” he asked his twin. “Boutiques to get to?”
Bill glowered at him. “Yeah.” He glanced at Robert. “You meant to give me the address of that shop we talked about, the one with the antique jewelry?”
“The consignment shop, yes.” Robert looked back at him with hopeful eyes. His curly hair was falling in his face, escaping the wavy coif it had been in. He brushed it back with a nervous hand. “I could show you?”
Bill’s smile was dazzling. “Yeah, I’d love that. Do you have time right now?”
Startled, Robert laughed. “Um, yeah, sure.”
“Great!” Bill beamed.
“Great!” Robert echoed. Their eyes met, and they stared at each other for a long moment, all bashful smiles.
Beside Tom, Erika made a strangled noise that reminded Tom of his dogs’ squeaky toys. She jumped up, which startled Robert to rise, too, and move towards the door. “Great, you guys! Go get us some nice Christmas presents.” She waved her hands, ushering them into the hall, where Robert pulled on a shiny pair of high black boots and grabbed a woollen coat from a rack that was bending in the middle under the weight of the girls’ jackets and unspeakable accessories.
“Tom said I’m not supposed to buy anyone presents.” Bill stuck out his tongue at his brother. “But I’m going to get you something anyway.” He leaned down to press a kiss to Erika’s cheek and nudge Tom hard in the side. “See you later, guys!”
Robert took the stack of papers she was still holding from Erika and put it in an envelope. “There was something else I wanted to talk to you about, but I forgot.” He smiled ruefully. His cheeks were pink, and when he put on his tophat, he looked more like an excited little boy playing dress up than a grown man.
Erika smiled fondly. “Call me when it comes back.”
“Will do.” He hugged her briefly. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Bye now.” Erika saw the two men off at the door, giving Bill a thumbs up and a grin behind Robert’s back.
Tom could only hope his brother would actually wait for their bodyguard downstairs, and not give Michael the slip so he could be alone with Robert, but then his girlfriend shut the door, effectively locking him in with her, and turned to glower at him.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Why are so cranky?”
“I’m not cranky,” Tom protested. The day had started so nicely, and he wanted it to continue that way. Still, there were some things that didn’t sit well with him.
“Well, then you’re just rude,” she said, folding her elbows across her chest. She was drowning in a dark blue hoodie of Tom’s, which she wore over a woollen pair of white, schoolgirlish over-the-knee socks, but for someone so small and feminine, she could look remarkably intimidating when she scowled. “And you embarrassed Bill. Aren’t you supposed to back him up? You’re his twin.”
Tom resented having the obvious pointed out to him. “Yeah, I am. And that’s why I get to decide how to treat him.”
“Even when you treat him like shit?” Erika said. “You almost let him faceplant on the rug.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “I didn’t even do anything to him.”
“No, but you didn’t do anything for him either.” She sighed. “Don’t be an ass, you’re better than that.”
“Thanks,” he snapped. So much for the day’s good mood.
“Tom, please.” She stepped closer and took his hands, rubbing his tight fists gently with her thumbs until he relaxed. “Why don’t you like Robert? He’s been nothing but nice to you.”
“I don’t not like him,” he huffed. “But suddenly he’s everywhere! Can I get a break?”
“You can,” she nodded. “But Bill seemed glad to see him again, so can’t you be happy for your brother?”
“I am happy!” he shouted.
“Shh!” came a hiss from Nele’s room across the hall.
Catching himself, Tom frowned. He hadn’t meant to snap at Erika, she didn’t deserve it, and the day had been supposed to be nice and quiet. “I just don’t enjoy watching them, is all,” he said, more calmly. “You think it’s cute, but all I see is Bill taking a huge leap of faith when he doesn’t even know the guy.”
“So let them get to know each other,” she suggested.
“I am letting him right now! But it’s stupid and it’s embarrassing, all sweet and shit, and I don’t like it.”
“But you’re sweet to me.” The corners of Erika’s mouth drooped. “And you didn’t think it was stupid and embarrassing when we first got together, did you?”
“I didn’t.” He realized what he was saying and quickly went on, “I don’t. But that’s different. You’re…you, and not a guy in a stupid top hat.”
That brought a small smile to her face. “Can’t argue about taste. Bill likes him.”
“He would.” Tom sighed. “Look, can we not talk about this? Bill’s going to do whatever he wants, anyway. No point arguing about it.”
“I’m sure he’d appreciate a little support, though,” she said gently, but left it at that. She braced her hands on his shoulders and rose on tiptoes to kiss him. “We didn’t really say hello. Hello.”
“Hey.” Tom held her waist, bunching the fabric of the oversized hoodie at her sides. She smelled like her flowery perfume and spray paint and just a little like him. It was nice, and didn’t fail to calm him. “D’you want to go paint? I brought supplies.”
“Later. I think you could use some sugar.” She drew back and led him to the living room, where she sat him on the couch again. “I’ll get us some cookies and milk, okay?”
“I’d rather have a cigarette,” Tom tried, but predictably, she shook her head, her long hair flying.
“Not in here. Stay!” she told him like he was a puppy, and bounced off.
He looked after her, grumbling. He really would’ve liked a cigarette. He would’ve liked for his brother to focus on songwriting instead of chasing after handsome strangers. He would’ve loved some quiet, contemplative holiday time, with a little bit of season-appropriate merriment. Spiced wine and gingerbread cookies. The gaudy gifts he could never dissuade Bill from buying. Family, friends, his dogs. Erika in a naughty Mrs Santa outfit.
The season was seriously lacking in cheer, though, and Tom wasn’t feeling very festive. He made a face.
“Oh, don’t look so gloomy. Here, look, I made more of your favorites.” Erika set down a tray with two glasses of milk and a full plate on the coffee table. She climbed into Tom’s lap, straddling his thighs, and put a cookie in his mouth.
At least the gingerbread left nothing to be desired.
“I’m not gloomy,” he said through a mouthful of crumbs. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked, stroking his face tenderly with her fingertips.
“Nah, it’ll just make me annoyed.” He cupped her round ass with both hands and drew her closer. “Tell me about your classes.”
She did, complaining at length about the professor who had the students do studies in pointillism until they couldn’t see for the colored dots dancing behind their eyelids, and the one who bored them with long lectures about technique before they were ever allowed to touch a paintbrush. “But we’re doing nudes now,” she said, and laughed. “Homework is drawing a male body part. I’ll do your abs, okay? The whole world doesn’t need to see your penis.”
“No?” Tom smirked, earning himself a playful slap across the chest. “Well. I’ll take off my shirt if you take off yours.”
“Okay, deal,” she smiled. She leaned in and captured his full bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling gently. He could feel the softness of her breasts pressing against his chest through the thick material of the hoodie, and he let his hands wander up underneath it, raising goosebumps on her hot skin. She wore a soft, well-worn tank top and nothing else. He let his palm curve around the underside of one breast and squeezed gently, eliciting pretty little noises from her.
Fascinated, Tom watched her eyes drift shut and her mouth fall open as he brushed his thumb over her nipple, rolling the small bud until it tightened and peaked. She was so beautiful like this, her cheeks pink and her eyes shuttered and dark. Her pale eyelashes fluttered gently against her cheeks. When he leaned in to kiss the sharp line of a cheekbone, he could feel the heat of her skin. It spread through him like a fever, aching in his bones.
“Take it to your room, guys.” Nele brushed past them busily and began to rummage through a stack of magazines that were piled up high next to the coffee table.
Erika started. She pushed Tom’s hand away and sat back on his knees, putting a little distance between them. Flustered, she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hey, hon, what’s up?”
“Still writing that essay on afternoon talk shows,” Nele grumbled. “I can’t believe I have to watch that crap. I’ll be needing the TV in a few minutes.”
“Sure.” To Tom’s regret, Erika climbed off him, brushing imaginary lint off her sweatshirt. “I’ll do some ironing, do you want me to do your blouses, too?”
“Would you? Oh, sweetie, you’re the best.” A stack of women’s magazines in hand, Nele blew Erika a kiss as she breezed past, back to her room.
Laughing, Erika brought out the ironing board that was pushed against the far wall of the living room, stacked with piles of Nele’s sensible shirts and Erika’s short little dresses. Ironing and talk shows, Tom thought; things didn’t get more mundane than that. It should’ve annoyed him, but somehow, it didn’t. He stretched out his long legs, smoothing a discreet hand over the front of his pants, and tilted his head back against the soft, corduroy cushions of the couch to watch his girlfriend set up her things.
“To be continued,” he told her, smirking.
She glanced up, returning his look with a smoldering one of her own. “You got it.”
Tom laughed. The small interlude hadn’t exactly relaxed him, but it had definitely improved his mood. “Don’t tell her I said this, but Nele is right,” he said wryly. “You are the best.”
To his amusement, she blushed. She stepped around her ironing board and pulled the shirt he was wearing off him. “Give me that, it looks like you pulled it out of a dumpster.”
“No, I pulled it out of the dryer like that,” Tom smiled proudly. “I did all our laundry and I didn’t even melt any of the appliqués on Bill’s t-shirts this time.”
Erika patted his arm. “Well done, you.”
He nodded, pleased with himself. The laundry was one thing off his to do list. A lot more pressing matters remained, but none that he had any idea how to tackle yet. “I wish I knew how to find a publicist, too,” he sighed.
Public perception of the band was slowly changing, at least that was how it felt to Tom when he stood on stage, soaking up the cheers of the small town crowds. The radio stations still didn’t play their songs much, though, and the press person they needed had to have bite. After he’d slept on it repeatedly, he knew none of the people they’d interviewed had been enough of a hell hound to do the job.
Erika smiled at him encouragingly. “You will figure something out. Didn’t you like any of the people you saw?”
“Not really. We need someone tough. Someone who’ll make them afraid to not play our songs,” he thought aloud, distracted by the way the hoodie she wore rode up as she moved about, exposing strips of bare thigh above her long stockings. Somehow, he mused, even the annoying things didn’t seem as bothersome when he was telling them to her. He stretched his arms out over the back of the couch, sinking snugly into the cushions, admiring the view. “We need someone good. Someone who won’t just get us places, we can do that by ourselves. What we need is someone who’ll get us respect.”
Erika looked up from steaming his shirt. “Have you asked Nele?”
“Nele?” Tom made a face. “Why would I ask her?”
“You do know she’s a Journalism student, right? With an minor in Communications?”
“Not that you’d know it from the way she communicates,” Tom snorted.
“And you’re scared of her,” Erika continued, smirking.
“I respect her,” he protested. “She won’t take bullshit. That’s…good.” The truth of that sunk in slowly. Nele was sharp, witty, and she didn’t take no for an answer. She was also self-righteous in a really obnoxious way, but maybe that was what they needed: someone who would unapologetically stand up for the band’s interests. “You know, this idea isn’t half bad.”
“Oh, I know.” She released a cloud of steam from her iron, smiling at him through the mist. “Doesn’t mean she’ll take the job, though.”
Tom laughed derisively. “Nele would be lucky if we gave it to her!”
“Gave me what?” Nele asked, sauntering back in with a bowl of chips. She plopped down on the couch next to Tom and glared until he moved his arms and made room for her.
He eyed her warily, wondering if Erika was right. The girl definitely had something about her that demanded respect, from the haughty tilt of her chin to the sober way she dressed herself, bunny slippers notwithstanding. He’d seen her defend Erika from him with the viciousness of a harpy; it was one of Tom’s more unpleasant memories. Perhaps, he thought, terror was the feeling they needed to inspire in their press contacts.
He took a deep breath. “We might have a job for you.”
“What do you mean, ‘we’?” she asked, her thick eyebrows rising high on her forehead.
“We, the band. Tokio Hotel.”
Nele laughed derisively. “I thought you were letting everyone go?”
He huffed. “Well, it wouldn’t be a permanent job. More like a series of freelance projects.”
“You mean you need a cheap slave?” she summed the situation up all too accurately. “For what, exactly?”
“Press releases. Public relations. That sort of thing.”
“No way,” she stated outright. “Your image is fucked up. I don’t want to repair it.”
Tom grit his teeth. “Our image isn’t fucked up. It’s just…difficult.”
“Too difficult,” she said.
“Afraid of a challenge?” Tom countered. “Think you couldn’t do it?”
Nele’s jaw set tightly. “I could so do it. I just don’t want to.”
“Why not?” He switched gears, willing himself to relax back into the couch and put on his most winning smile.
“Because I want a job at a quality newspaper, and who’s ever going to take me seriously if I wrote press releases to be printed in Bravo?”
“You’d gain a lot of on-the-job experience,” Tom cajoled. “There’ll be tons to do once the new album drops. We really, really need you.”
“I bet you do,” she said archly. They stared each other down for a few moments. “Okay, say I did take this job, there’s a few things you’d have to promise me.”
He grinned, triumphant. “Such as?”
“No disrespecting of women,” she counted off her fingers. “No stupid Viagra stories.”
“We haven’t had a sex scandal in ages,” Tom pointed out. He didn’t miss those days either; the record company had really been getting desperate for publicity at that point.
“You’d have to work with me and be professional,” Nele said.
“We always are!”
“Good,” she nodded. “And also, if you hit anyone, I’m out.”
“Nele,” Erika chided gently.
Tom snorted. “I’m not going to hit anyone!”
“Are you sure? You’ve seemed pretty cranky lately,” Nele said snidely.
“That’s not his fault, he’s been having a hard time of it,” Erika said with finality. “Just do it, Nel. You’ll like it.”
“You think?” Nele’s attempt at a dark look fell flat when she looked at her friend, and Tom realized that he wasn’t the only one who could never deny Erika anything. “Fine, I probably would. I wouldn’t mind the travelling, anyway.” She pinned Tom with a look. “Okay. I’ll need to take a look at your press archives.”
“It’s all at the studio. There’s a whole lot,” Tom grinned.
“Don’t brag,” she told him sternly. “When can I go there to look?”
“Um, later today?” Tom shrugged. “We can drive down together.”
“Okay. We’ll do that,” Nele decreed. She grabbed the remote control off the coffee table and switched on the TV. “And now excuse me, I have a talk show to transcribe.”
The crowd in the bubblegum-colored studio cheered. Across the TV screen flashed the day’s discussion topic in bright pink letters. Help, my friend is obsessed with Tokio Hotel!
Tom released a long-suffering sigh. “You didn’t pick this one by accident, did you?”
The woman flashed him a scary grin. “Nothing I do is ever by accident.”
Working with her, Tom thought with an appreciative nod, would definitely be interesting. It was progress, anyway.
Title: The Ways of the World (3/?)
Pairings/Genre: Tom/OFC, Bill/OMC, Georg/OFC, lots of gen on the side
Rating: NC17
Summary: Much has changed for the better in Tom's life since he fell in love, but the world keeps spinning and the show must go on. Sequel to The Best Laid Plans.
Things did look more manageable after Tom had slept for the better part of three days. He wanted to feel guilty for wasting time when he had a long list of stuff to do, but he simply couldn’t; he always passed out before he could start beating himself up about it in earnest.
After they’d returned from the meeting at the studio, dutifulness had prevailed at first. He’d woken from a long nap in the early evening, still bleary and exhausted, but determined to get up and make the scheduled phone calls to David and Benjamin…if only his bed hadn’t felt so nice. It was soft and comfortable, and there was a warm body on either side of him.
Tom’s first, sleepy thought was that the dogs had figured out how to open his bedroom door and gotten into bed with him, but then he’d realized that their puppies didn’t smell like roses, and they were still at Simone’s house, where the twins had dropped them off before they left to hit the road. He’d opened his eyes to the warm, golden glow of Erika’s hair shining in the dim light of the room, finding her tucked against his side, sound asleep. He’d curled around her instinctively; his arms were tight around her waist, and his hands had found their way under her t-shirt while he slept. On his other side, Bill was twitching restlessly in sleep like he always did, making strange noises and tangling his long limbs with Tom’s. The bed should’ve felt too small for all of them to share, but right then, Tom couldn’t imagine anything more cozy. He buried his face in the crook of Erika’s neck, inhaled her flowery perfume and went right back to sleep, wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of having everything he needed right there.
Outside, a thick layer of snow had fallen overnight, covering the house under a white blanket that glittered in the morning sun when he’d woken again to find Erika gone and a wonderful breakfast smell wafting through the house. It had become a routine over the next few days: sleep; shuffle down into the kitchen where she’d be bustling about dressed in one of his sweatshirts and little else; eat whatever she put in front of him; shower; go back to sleep. Tom had done a few chores and made his business-related phone calls in between, dutifully taking notes of everything because he knew he’d forget all about the conversations straight away in his limbo state between sleep and full awareness, but that had been the extent of his efforts to be professional. Sometimes, they just needed a break.
His and Bill’s sleeping patterns aligned themselves easily after the initial tiredness had worn off, but they didn’t do much more than grunt at each other when they wandered into the kitchen at the same time. They didn’t need to talk; Tom saw the lines under his twin’s eyes fade, the pasty color of his face give way to a healthier glow with each meal Erika fed him, and it was all he needed to know that Bill was okay. Other than that, he was glad that his brother had graciously retreated to his own bedroom, so Tom could finally give his girlfriend the attention she deserved. Making love to her at last felt as vital as satisfying all his other physical needs. He had missed it; missed her in all her sweetness that could pull him back from the brink of desperation even when Tom felt like it was all too much, and he’d gladly sleep his life away.
On the fourth day back, he woke to white, brilliant sunshine. His room was lit up, and when he sat up in bed, he could see the bare treetops outside his window glittering with a sheen of frost. It was a beautiful day. In his warm, comfortable bed, Tom stretched languidly, feeling a little like a kid on winter holiday. It was almost Christmas; he was home, he had the day off, and his head had finally stopped hurting. If there’d been a pretty little blonde in his bed, the pretty little blonde he’d grown so fond of, life would’ve been perfect.
He was alone though, and Erika’s side of the bed was cold. Tom hugged her pillow, breathing in the scent of her. It was all over his bed and his room and his life, a permanent mark that made him smile. There’d been a time when he couldn’t have imagined sharing his bed, never mind having his own side and letting her have the other, depending on finding her there, beside him, every day. It was such a normal thing to enjoy, and Tom had never done normal, not in his entire life, but this, he loved.
He smoothed a hand over her pillow, then climbed out of bed, scratching his bare chest. The room was very warm, like every place that Erika inhabited, but it wasn’t unpleasant as he stood naked by the window, half-hidden behind the curtains, and looked out at the frozen world. Tom grinned. Maybe, if it snowed a little more, he could drag Bill outside for a snowball fight later.
He took his time in the bathroom, feeling relaxed for the first time in days as he went through his routine of shaving, showering, applying copious amounts of lotion. He rolled his dreads between his hands, twisting in front of the mirror, enjoying the way his body moved without aching again. Even the soreness in his bad arm had subsided. His limbs didn’t feel heavy with bone-deep tiredness anymore, just nicely slack with the satisfaction of a good orgasm, sweet relief to the frustration that had had his body coiled tight for weeks. It was certainly nice not to wake up with a raging hard-on.
Tom took his time selecting his clothes: jeans, t-shirts layered under a checkered flannel, a beanie, all blues and whites like the sky over the bright, snowy world outside. He made his bed, put away the worn socks and underwear that were scattered all around his room, then turned down the heating and opened a window to let in some air. He breathed deeply, enjoying the clean scent of winter. It would be nice to go for a walk today; he missed the dogs. Without them, frolicking in the snow wasn’t half as fun.
Downstairs in the kitchen, all was quiet, but he found that the table was set and a large dish of lasagna was waiting in the fridge for him to put into the oven. On his plate, there was a note from his girlfriend, reminding him that she’d gone to class in the morning and that she’d call later. He glanced at his watch. It was three-thirty in the afternoon, so ‘later’ was probably here now. On the answering machine, a blinking button alerted him to a call from his mom, who asked when they were coming to Magdeburg, and a call from Erika.
“Hey, are you still asleep?” she laughed. “It’s three o’clock and I’m home, my late classes were cancelled. I’ll try to work on our graffiti. Can you come over to my place tonight? Call me!”
Tom switched on the oven and put on the lasagna as the phone beeped with the number he had on speed dial. It took a while for Erika to answer the phone, and when she did, she was out of breath. “Hello?”
“What have you been doing?” Tom drawled wickedly.
“I was on the stepladder, painting,” she gasped. “And then I couldn’t find the phone anywhere.”
Tom didn’t let reality spoil his fantasies of why she might sound so breathless. A slideshow of colorful images played before his inner eye. He smirked to himself. “Is that why you want me to come over? To tidy up?”
“Yes, Tom, that’s why I keep you around,” she teased. “Did you just wake up?”
“Yeah, I’m making that lasagna right now.”
“Lasagna for breakfast,” she sighed, amused.
“You left it here for us to eat. So I’m eating it.” He fished a cigarette from his pack, then made a detour to the closet in the hall for his fluffy blue down jacket before he went out on the patio to smoke. “Thanks, by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “So what’s the plan for later?”
Tom released a long breath. Bluish smoke hung over him for a moment, sweetly fragrant, before it dissipated in the wind. The patio was bright with frosty, silvery sunshine. He sat down in a cold plastic chair, soaking up the weak rays. The sun did little to warm him, but he enjoyed the light that washed over him, chased away all the shadows. “There’s no plan,” he smiled. “I’m free to do whatever I want.”
“And does that include seeing me?” she asked coyly, and he could hear the smile in her voice.
“You know you’re my favorite thing to do,” Tom grinned.
“Your favorite thing!” She snorted out a laugh. “Eat your lasagna and then get over here, I need your help or my paint job is going to be a mess. I’m no good at graffiti.”
“You need practice, Sweet Buns.” Erika was kind and charming and beautiful, he thought wryly, but she was not patient, least of all with herself. In this, too, they understood each other. Tom had been trying to be more lenient, let go of his uptight need to get everything just right, but it was difficult when things weren’t going the way he wanted them to. “You can’t expect to pick up a spray can and do perfectly on your first try.”
“It’s not my first try.” She sounded disgruntled, and Tom had to smile. She’d drawn the most intricate, perfect piece in his sketchbook in preparation, a complicated ambigram of her name and his set into an ornamental pattern that picked up on the colors of the bright, vivid landscape he’d already sprayed on her other wall. He’d warned her that it was too fussy and detailed, but she hadn’t listened. She was very talented with traditional media, so she had a right to be a little cocky, but Tom had a feeling she had underestimated this particular art. “I did it once while you were away. The lines were all wonky. I had to paint over the entire wall.”
He laughed. “I’ll bring more spray can tips. Maybe it’s paint flow that’s the problem.”
“I think I’m the problem,” she sighed. “I need you, Tom.”
There was no naughty undertone to her voice just now, but Tom shivered pleasantly at her choice of words. He loved it when she said things like that, things that told him she was just as crazy for him as he was for her, and not just in the physical sense. It was easy to pick up on the wicked double-meanings and retort with a heated remark of his own, a dozen of which were at the tip of his tongue, but none of them conveyed the depth of what he felt for her. Sometimes, the truth didn’t need a lot of words. “Same, baby,” he said simply. “Always.”
Her breath hitched. “Mmm, you know what it does to me when you’re sweet.”
“No?” Tom said innocently, and she laughed.
“Get over here and find out, then,” she said and hung up, leaving Tom with a pleasant tingle in his belly that had nothing to do with hunger anymore.
It would be a shame to let Erika’s lasagna go to waste, though. He snuffed his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray on the garden table, where it hissed and sputtered for a moment against a thin layer of ice. He breathed on his cold hands. It was nice outside, but sitting around on his ass he was quickly starting to feel like a popsicle. Brushing off his feet on the doormat, he made his way back into the warm kitchen, where Bill had appeared, drawn by the smell of food, and was now shovelling an obscene amount of lasagna on a plate, his eyes still small and sleepy. He was wearing clingy boxer shorts and nothing else under his silly brown faux fur coat, looking like a very naughty, exhibitionist muppet.
“Hey,” Tom smiled.
“Hnngh,” Bill grunted. He scooped up the melting, cheesy top layer of his lasagna and stuffed it in his mouth, then shuffled over to put his arms around Tom and laid his head on Tom’s shoulder, chewing with his eyes closed.
Chuckling, Tom moved them both over to the kitchen counter, where he set about making coffee. They hadn’t spent much time together over the past few days. It felt weird after their recent road trip, where Bill had literally been within arm’s reach at all times. Tom missed it, the closeness, but more than that, he missed the calm he felt when Bill was around, the inexplicable connection between their minds and souls that he could sense when they were just sitting in silence together, or chatting about idle, unimportant things. In those quiet moments, Tom felt centered, balanced, like their coming together made them whole.
Bill seemed to feel the same way, because he was trying his best to fuse them together physically, too. He clung to Tom’s middle with grabby hands that fisted in his shirt. “Tooom,” he yawned, “I just can’t think of the right thing!”
Tom blinked. Starting up conversations in the middle instead of at the beginning wasn’t unusual for them, but he needed a little prompting here. “Right thing?”
“To write back,” Bill elaborated. He squinted at Tom, saw him raise his eyebrows quizzically, and went on, “to Robert.”
“Ah.” Tom had forgotten all about him. So much for their famed mind-melt. Grumbling, he shrugged, disentangling himself from Bill so he could put a mug of coffee in his brother’s hand. “He wrote? A letter?” The guy was certainly retro enough to rely on snail mail like their grandparents.
Bill’s nose scrunched up. “No, he texted me, silly.” He took a long drink of coffee, sighing blissfully. When he put the mug down, he looked much more alert. “Here.” He fished his cell phone from the pocket of his coat and handed it over.
Tom scrolled through the recent messages, from Andi and their mom and himself. The most recent one was simply marked ‘from: R’ and thanked Bill for the lovely talk the two had had; maybe they could meet up again sometime? The text was short and sweet, but signed ‘yours, Robert’. Tom snorted - who signed their text messages, anyway? - and then he glanced at the date. Three days ago. Surprised, he looked back at his twin. “You haven’t replied yet?”
“No.” Bill ducked his head, embarrassed. “I didn’t know what to say.”
Tom stared. This sort of thing was so completely unlike Bill, it took a moment to process. “You didn’t know what to say. You. Didn’t know.”
“I don’t know, I just didn’t want him to think I was…weird.”
That was a valid concern; Bill’s texts to Tom were usually a jumble of typos and abbreviations, and while Tom was fairly sure Bill toned down the shorthand when he texted others, his non-sequiturs had been known to give people whiplash. Tom’s brow furrowed. “Not replying at all is weird, isn’t it?”
“I know,” Bill said sheepishly. He plucked the phone from Tom’s hand and read through the message again. His frown eased. He sighed. “He’s so nice.”
“So it’s not that you don’t want to see him again?” Tom found that he’d momentarily hoped the thrill of meeting someone new had worn off with a few days’ rest and Bill not being as strung out. He shuffled his feet. He and Bill were as close as two people could be, and they trusted each other implicitly, but Tom couldn’t suppress the niggling feeling of unease that bit at his insides like green, toxic acid when he saw his brother behave this way, so unlike himself. He wasn’t used to this Bill. It was disconcerting. In his mind, he could all but hear Erika’s voice chiding him gently for his inflexible ways, and that was annoying, too.
“No, I do. I want to.” Bill turned wide, incredulous eyes on his twin, as if he couldn’t believe Tom would ask such a thing, even though they hadn’t even known the handsome stranger a week ago. Tom hadn’t seen him take to anyone so quickly ever since they’d adopted the dogs from the shelter. “I just don’t want to mess up.”
Tom released a long breath. “Just text him back that you’d like to see him, how hard can it be?” Even he had managed to maintain a relationship, after all. If Tom could do it, Bill could, too, but that was all the encouragement he was going to get from Tom. If Bill didn’t seize his chance…well, that wasn’t Tom’s fault.
“But he’s going to wonder why I didn’t reply sooner.” Bill poured himself a second, fortifying cup of coffee, adding about a pound of sugar. “Do I explain?”
“He’s lucky you’re replying at all,” Tom said acridly, and his twin glanced up from the sugar pot, amused.
“Jealous? Oh, please.”
It wasn’t that. Well, it wasn’t just that. Tom glared, and with a chuckle, Bill set down his mug and hugged Tom again, ignoring his feeble resistance and wiggling his way back into Tom’s arms, where he clung, breathing deeply, calmly, in and out. Tom could feel his twin’s heartbeat, pressed chest to chest as they were. It was soothing.
“How much do you love me?” Bill whispered, a warm brush of air on Tom’s neck.
“You know that, you don’t have to ask,” Tom said gruffly. The fur of Bill’s coat tickled his nose. He made a face.
Bill chuckled. “Do you love me any less since you’ve met Erika?”
“Of course not.” The mere thought was ludicrous.
“And yet, you love her too,” Bill said wisely.
Tom shifted restlessly from left foot to right. “Yes.”
“And not just a little.” Bill sounded pleased at that. He drew back slightly to look into Tom’s eyes. “If - if! - I fall in love with anyone, it’s going to be just like that. There’ll be double the love, not half.”
“I know.” It was impossible to doubt Bill’s capacity to love; he embraced life with such exuberance, Tom would never accuse him of not having enough feeling to go around. On the contrary - perhaps Bill had too much of it. Tom clutched at his shoulders, shaking his twin gently. “I just, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Why’d you think I would?” Bill asked with genuine curiosity. “Don’t you like Robert?”
Tom hesitated for a moment, unsure what to say, how to explain. “Yes, but… Who knows, anything could happen.”
“Yes, it could,” Bill smiled. “Isn’t that the point?”
Tom huffed. He liked to plan, organize, make sure everything in life had its place and right time. Surprises were unsettling to him, but not to Bill, he lived day to day to the fullest, without concern for what others thought of what consequences might befall him for the impulsive decisions he made. They balanced each other like that, but if Bill fell in love, that was an adventure Tom couldn’t set out on with him. It was outside his control.
Tom didn’t like things out of control.
“I suppose,” he sighed. “Just be careful, okay?”
Bill rolled his eyes in that derisive manner he displayed whenever he found Tom overbearing and silly. “You say that every time I want to do something fun. Mood killer!”
“Do not!” Tom protested.
Bill laughed. “Yes, you do. When I went for my tattoos, when I wanted to go skydiving, when I agreed to do Dan and Dean’s show, and really, Tom, what did you think could happen on a runway--”
“Sorry for worrying about you,” Tom snapped. He drew in on himself like a turtle, his arms hugged around his narrow chest.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Bill assured him, much more confident now. As ever, when Tom expressed doubts about something, Bill gained optimism for them both. In that way, they fed off each other, too; kept the precarious balance that was needed for their crazy lifestyle. “Really! I’m not getting my hopes up yet that he even likes me that way.”
But that wasn’t quite true; Tom could see all of Bill’s hopes and dreams in the faraway look in his eye, in the soft, tentative curve of his smile as he read through the message on his phone once more, then stuffed it into the inside pocket of his coat, hidden away like a secret love letter. Be careful, Tom wanted to say again, but he bit his lip and kept silent.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Bill was poking at the vegetables in his lasagna, not even looking back at Tom, but he could probably feel the weight of Tom’s stare on him. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Honestly, Tom, imagine if I’d made such a fuss every time you went off with one of your dispensable lovers.”
Tom thought that had been rather different - he had never been at risk of getting his heart broken. “I haven’t had a one-night stand in almost two years. And when I had them, you weren’t very pleased with me either.”
“But I didn’t guilt you into not having them.”
“I’m not guilting you!” Tom protested loudly.
“No? Then please stop looking like the world is about to end. It’s a beautiful day!” Bill made a grand gesture with his hand. Behind the kitchen window, the world sparkled under layers of bluish ice and snow. Bill inched closer to the glass, drawn by the diamond shimmer of the sun dancing over the frozen surface. “We should build a snowman.”
Tom snorted. “Later, okay? I’ve plans to go see Erika.”
“Now?” Bill nodded his assent. “Okay. I’ll drop you off, I need to go do some Christmas shopping.”
Tom released a long sigh. Christmas shopping was just a welcome excuse for Bill to self-indulge after their agreement, months ago, that Tom would stop buying sneakers if Bill stopped buying luxury accessories, all in an effort to keep their credit card bill manageable. Bill had been pining after diamond-studded belt buckles and platinum skull rings ever since. Tom didn’t want to be there when he was let loose after a four-month spending lockdown. “Let’s just give everyone cards and a hug.”
Bill looked much like the Yeti on amphetamines as he flapped his arms in the silly fur coat, outraged. He made a low, grumbly noise to match. “Cards and a hug! What sort of shitty Christmas would that be?”
“One that will be followed by lots of studio time, for which we will need to hire a sound tech,” Tom sighed. “Bill, seriously.”
His twin was undeterred. “I’m not going to go overboard,” Bill promised. He held up two manicured fingers with a centimeter of space between them, giving Tom a puppy dog look from wide brown eyes. “Just something small - really, really small - for mom? And Gordon? And me?”
“You’re not getting a gift,” Tom stated to the whiny sound of Bill’s disappointment trying to weasel its way into Tom’s heart. “We don’t do gifts, remember?”
“But…” Bill let his lower lip quiver pitifully. “If I can’t buy myself stuff anymore, and you’re not going to, how am I going to properly accessorize?”
“Maybe Dan and Dean will send you a care package,” Tom said, changing the subject shortly. “You’re taking Michael, right?” Retaining their group of bodyguards was a luxury these days, but one that Tom wasn’t yet sure they could do without. Things had calmed down considerably over the past few months; with Tom obviously committed to his girlfriend and Georg about to start a family, the less extreme fans had accepted that they needed some privacy and backed off, and even some of the more hardcore ones had finally given up on trying to get the guys to notice them. Still, there were the occasional trespassers, the curious neighbors, the haters who scratched up their cars, not to mention the crazy reporters, and Tom just didn’t feel like taking any risks, especially not with the lives of his girlfriend or his twin.
“Yeah, sure. Silly man didn’t sound excited, but I’ll give him a Christmas bonus.” Bill grinned evilly, then drained his mug and picked through the last of his lasagna for pieces he deemed edible. “I’ll go get dressed real quick.” And off he went, coat rustling, to do some overdue plucking and primping.
Tom sat down at the kitchen table, passing the time while Bill showered with a nice breakfast of lasagna. He was just done when his twin came skipping back down the stairs, dressed in huge combat boots paired with a flimsy black outfit of skinny jeans and a thin, silky shirt that was unbuttoned to show off his collarbones and the chunky silver necklace Bill was wearing. Tom put his plate and cutlery in the sink, sparing them both a comment about how Bill would surely catch pneumonia. It was a bit of a tradition that Bill caught cold over their Christmas holiday; Tom suspected that he enjoyed whining, and everyone around him catering to his every whim when he was ill.
“Ready?” Bill asked as he wound a chunky black scarf around his neck.
“Yeah. I’ll drive, okay?” Tom really missed his car, and besides, Bill’s driving made him carsick.
“Fine. You can drive us there, I’ll drive back.” With that ominous threat, Bill flung open the front door. “Come on, I told Michael to meet me at Erika’s. You know how he hates waiting.”
The bodyguard had a full day of standing around and waiting ahead if Bill was serious about getting his Christmas shopping done. Tom was glad that they’d agreed not to get each other presents years ago. Bill would cover the gifts for their family, which left Tom with only Erika to buy for. She probably would’ve been okay with a card and a hug - or a little more than a hug - but for her, he actually wanted to do something special.
“A box of pastels or a new bag?” he mused as he steered the car down their drive, carefully gaining speed once they hit the street, trying to get a feel for the frozen surface.
“You mean the Balenciaga she eyed at the shop when I went in for that great jacket?” Bill easily caught on to Tom’s thinking as always. Talking to his twin really was a bit like talking to himself. Tom shot him a grateful glance. He wasn’t sure he would’ve even been able to identify the exact bag Erika had liked, three months after their visit to that particular boutique.
“I should’ve bought that jacket,” Bill said mournfully. “I don’t care what you say, those gold sequins did look good on me.”
Tom didn’t dignify that with an answer. “So? The bag?”
“It was nice,” Bill nodded. “Shall I get it for you? Nothing says true love like expensive accessories.”
“Yeah, but her mom will buy her those,” Tom said. “But her parents never get her art supplies right, they don’t really pay attention to what she needs.”
Bill waved his hand. “Fine, so buy her those boring crayons.”
Tom was fairly sure Erika wouldn’t consider a deluxe wood box set of oil pastels ‘boring’, but it was true, they weren’t a particularly romantic present either. He’d have to think about delivery: he could get candles, chocolates, a nice bottle of champagne perhaps. And then he’d hide the gift in his bed, where he’d take her after a fancy dinner…
So lost in thought, Tom drove them through the long-familiar streets to Erika’s house. The city was crowded and busy with people rushing around, running Christmas-related errands. Shopping today would be a nightmare; surely, Bill would love it. Tom squeezed the car into the last spot, a little ways down the street from his girlfriend’s house. “Are you coming?” he asked Bill, who gathered his belongings - wallet, sunglasses, cigarettes, candy, tissues, notebook - from the different, overflowing compartments inside the car and stuffed them in his bag.
“Yeah, we’ll take Michael’s car when he gets here. Less conspicuous. I’ll just wait for him upstairs.”
They entered the house without attracting unwanted attention and took the wheezing elevator upstairs, where Nele opened the door for them and promptly disappeared into her room again, hissing something about homework and needing peace and quiet. Tom kind of regretted not bringing his guitar to practise and annoy her a little; he’d found, in his months of coming and going here, that Nele liked life argumentative, or she got bored. It was something he appreciated, having grown up with Bill.
“…So he starts taking off his clothes, and just when things get interesting, the professor brings out a fig leaf. An actual fig leaf! Can you believe it?” laughed a voice to the left.
Smiling, Tom shuffled down the hall to the living room, leaving Bill by the door to struggle with the woolly masses of his scarf. He peeked around the doorframe and found Erika sitting on the couch, scribbling on a stack of papers on her knees. Across from her sat Robert, lounging casually in a battered armchair and smoking his pipe. He was dressed in the same formal manner as before, but mirth crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look boyish and kind, much less rigid than his appearance would suggest at first. He had a nice smile, Tom thought when the pair in front of him laughed at the secret joke between them. Feeling a little out of place, he cleared his throat, and when she saw him, Erika’s face lit up further.
“Hey! It’s my favorite model. Come in,” she smiled, waving. “I was just telling Robert about the class I had this morning. We did sketches of the human figure.”
“Nice.” Tom raised his eyebrows at Robert. The guy seemed to have made himself a permanent fixture on what Tom considered his turf. “You really like it here, don’t you.”
“I brought our term paper for Erika to sign before I drop it off at the faculty’s mailbox,” Robert said calmly. “I was just about to…” His gaze shifted. He sat up straighter. “Oh. Hey.”
“Hey,” Bill said softly from behind Tom, and then Tom felt him breathe deeply in and out to calm himself, leaning in to Tom for support.
Jerkily, Tom pushed off the doorframe and stomped over to where his girlfriend was sitting, and Bill spilled gracelessly over the threshold into the room, coming to an abrupt stop on the ridiculously fluffy, pink rug that Nele said gave the room ‘character’. He shuffled his feet, embarrassed.
Tom felt Erika’s quizzical gaze on him and determinedly avoided her eyes. The whole thing was stupid. He wasn’t going to be a part of all that feet-shuffling, blushing and stammering that Bill and Robert were doing. Bill could hide behind someone else, or not hide at all for that matter, if he was going to do this. He was always going on about being open with his feelings, after all.
Tom had hated going through all the clichéd motions of the love game when it had been he who was sick with desire for Erika. Watching from the sidelines, if he thought about it, was hardly better.
“Um. Good to see you,” Bill ventured after a moment’s silence. He glanced at Erika momentarily, but the weight of his gaze rested on Robert. “I was going to text you, but I, well, honestly, I slept most of the past few days.” He smiled ruefully. “Sorry?”
“It’s fine,” Robert said. “It’s good to see you again, now that I can actually keep my eyes open.” He paused a moment, his eyes flickering down from Bill’s face to the toes of his boots and back like he wanted to commit every last detail about him to memory. “I was so tired, I wasn’t sure I hadn’t dreamed you.”
Bill bit his lip, trying and failing to contain a big smile. He laced his fingers together nervously, shrugging. “Nah. I’m all real.”
“Amazing,” Robert said, a smile in his voice.
Next to him, Tom could feel Erika humming with glee, her body wound tight like a coil, ready to spring the moment she was alone with him. He put his arm around her waist and pinched the fleshy curve of her hip, hard. She jumped, squeaking, and the others’ attention was effectively shifted to her.
“So,” Bill cleared his throat, “What’s the plan? Tom?”
“Graffiti, I think.” Tom glanced at his girlfriend, who nodded. “Didn’t you have shopping to do?” he asked his twin. “Boutiques to get to?”
Bill glowered at him. “Yeah.” He glanced at Robert. “You meant to give me the address of that shop we talked about, the one with the antique jewelry?”
“The consignment shop, yes.” Robert looked back at him with hopeful eyes. His curly hair was falling in his face, escaping the wavy coif it had been in. He brushed it back with a nervous hand. “I could show you?”
Bill’s smile was dazzling. “Yeah, I’d love that. Do you have time right now?”
Startled, Robert laughed. “Um, yeah, sure.”
“Great!” Bill beamed.
“Great!” Robert echoed. Their eyes met, and they stared at each other for a long moment, all bashful smiles.
Beside Tom, Erika made a strangled noise that reminded Tom of his dogs’ squeaky toys. She jumped up, which startled Robert to rise, too, and move towards the door. “Great, you guys! Go get us some nice Christmas presents.” She waved her hands, ushering them into the hall, where Robert pulled on a shiny pair of high black boots and grabbed a woollen coat from a rack that was bending in the middle under the weight of the girls’ jackets and unspeakable accessories.
“Tom said I’m not supposed to buy anyone presents.” Bill stuck out his tongue at his brother. “But I’m going to get you something anyway.” He leaned down to press a kiss to Erika’s cheek and nudge Tom hard in the side. “See you later, guys!”
Robert took the stack of papers she was still holding from Erika and put it in an envelope. “There was something else I wanted to talk to you about, but I forgot.” He smiled ruefully. His cheeks were pink, and when he put on his tophat, he looked more like an excited little boy playing dress up than a grown man.
Erika smiled fondly. “Call me when it comes back.”
“Will do.” He hugged her briefly. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Bye now.” Erika saw the two men off at the door, giving Bill a thumbs up and a grin behind Robert’s back.
Tom could only hope his brother would actually wait for their bodyguard downstairs, and not give Michael the slip so he could be alone with Robert, but then his girlfriend shut the door, effectively locking him in with her, and turned to glower at him.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Why are so cranky?”
“I’m not cranky,” Tom protested. The day had started so nicely, and he wanted it to continue that way. Still, there were some things that didn’t sit well with him.
“Well, then you’re just rude,” she said, folding her elbows across her chest. She was drowning in a dark blue hoodie of Tom’s, which she wore over a woollen pair of white, schoolgirlish over-the-knee socks, but for someone so small and feminine, she could look remarkably intimidating when she scowled. “And you embarrassed Bill. Aren’t you supposed to back him up? You’re his twin.”
Tom resented having the obvious pointed out to him. “Yeah, I am. And that’s why I get to decide how to treat him.”
“Even when you treat him like shit?” Erika said. “You almost let him faceplant on the rug.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “I didn’t even do anything to him.”
“No, but you didn’t do anything for him either.” She sighed. “Don’t be an ass, you’re better than that.”
“Thanks,” he snapped. So much for the day’s good mood.
“Tom, please.” She stepped closer and took his hands, rubbing his tight fists gently with her thumbs until he relaxed. “Why don’t you like Robert? He’s been nothing but nice to you.”
“I don’t not like him,” he huffed. “But suddenly he’s everywhere! Can I get a break?”
“You can,” she nodded. “But Bill seemed glad to see him again, so can’t you be happy for your brother?”
“I am happy!” he shouted.
“Shh!” came a hiss from Nele’s room across the hall.
Catching himself, Tom frowned. He hadn’t meant to snap at Erika, she didn’t deserve it, and the day had been supposed to be nice and quiet. “I just don’t enjoy watching them, is all,” he said, more calmly. “You think it’s cute, but all I see is Bill taking a huge leap of faith when he doesn’t even know the guy.”
“So let them get to know each other,” she suggested.
“I am letting him right now! But it’s stupid and it’s embarrassing, all sweet and shit, and I don’t like it.”
“But you’re sweet to me.” The corners of Erika’s mouth drooped. “And you didn’t think it was stupid and embarrassing when we first got together, did you?”
“I didn’t.” He realized what he was saying and quickly went on, “I don’t. But that’s different. You’re…you, and not a guy in a stupid top hat.”
That brought a small smile to her face. “Can’t argue about taste. Bill likes him.”
“He would.” Tom sighed. “Look, can we not talk about this? Bill’s going to do whatever he wants, anyway. No point arguing about it.”
“I’m sure he’d appreciate a little support, though,” she said gently, but left it at that. She braced her hands on his shoulders and rose on tiptoes to kiss him. “We didn’t really say hello. Hello.”
“Hey.” Tom held her waist, bunching the fabric of the oversized hoodie at her sides. She smelled like her flowery perfume and spray paint and just a little like him. It was nice, and didn’t fail to calm him. “D’you want to go paint? I brought supplies.”
“Later. I think you could use some sugar.” She drew back and led him to the living room, where she sat him on the couch again. “I’ll get us some cookies and milk, okay?”
“I’d rather have a cigarette,” Tom tried, but predictably, she shook her head, her long hair flying.
“Not in here. Stay!” she told him like he was a puppy, and bounced off.
He looked after her, grumbling. He really would’ve liked a cigarette. He would’ve liked for his brother to focus on songwriting instead of chasing after handsome strangers. He would’ve loved some quiet, contemplative holiday time, with a little bit of season-appropriate merriment. Spiced wine and gingerbread cookies. The gaudy gifts he could never dissuade Bill from buying. Family, friends, his dogs. Erika in a naughty Mrs Santa outfit.
The season was seriously lacking in cheer, though, and Tom wasn’t feeling very festive. He made a face.
“Oh, don’t look so gloomy. Here, look, I made more of your favorites.” Erika set down a tray with two glasses of milk and a full plate on the coffee table. She climbed into Tom’s lap, straddling his thighs, and put a cookie in his mouth.
At least the gingerbread left nothing to be desired.
“I’m not gloomy,” he said through a mouthful of crumbs. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked, stroking his face tenderly with her fingertips.
“Nah, it’ll just make me annoyed.” He cupped her round ass with both hands and drew her closer. “Tell me about your classes.”
She did, complaining at length about the professor who had the students do studies in pointillism until they couldn’t see for the colored dots dancing behind their eyelids, and the one who bored them with long lectures about technique before they were ever allowed to touch a paintbrush. “But we’re doing nudes now,” she said, and laughed. “Homework is drawing a male body part. I’ll do your abs, okay? The whole world doesn’t need to see your penis.”
“No?” Tom smirked, earning himself a playful slap across the chest. “Well. I’ll take off my shirt if you take off yours.”
“Okay, deal,” she smiled. She leaned in and captured his full bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling gently. He could feel the softness of her breasts pressing against his chest through the thick material of the hoodie, and he let his hands wander up underneath it, raising goosebumps on her hot skin. She wore a soft, well-worn tank top and nothing else. He let his palm curve around the underside of one breast and squeezed gently, eliciting pretty little noises from her.
Fascinated, Tom watched her eyes drift shut and her mouth fall open as he brushed his thumb over her nipple, rolling the small bud until it tightened and peaked. She was so beautiful like this, her cheeks pink and her eyes shuttered and dark. Her pale eyelashes fluttered gently against her cheeks. When he leaned in to kiss the sharp line of a cheekbone, he could feel the heat of her skin. It spread through him like a fever, aching in his bones.
“Take it to your room, guys.” Nele brushed past them busily and began to rummage through a stack of magazines that were piled up high next to the coffee table.
Erika started. She pushed Tom’s hand away and sat back on his knees, putting a little distance between them. Flustered, she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hey, hon, what’s up?”
“Still writing that essay on afternoon talk shows,” Nele grumbled. “I can’t believe I have to watch that crap. I’ll be needing the TV in a few minutes.”
“Sure.” To Tom’s regret, Erika climbed off him, brushing imaginary lint off her sweatshirt. “I’ll do some ironing, do you want me to do your blouses, too?”
“Would you? Oh, sweetie, you’re the best.” A stack of women’s magazines in hand, Nele blew Erika a kiss as she breezed past, back to her room.
Laughing, Erika brought out the ironing board that was pushed against the far wall of the living room, stacked with piles of Nele’s sensible shirts and Erika’s short little dresses. Ironing and talk shows, Tom thought; things didn’t get more mundane than that. It should’ve annoyed him, but somehow, it didn’t. He stretched out his long legs, smoothing a discreet hand over the front of his pants, and tilted his head back against the soft, corduroy cushions of the couch to watch his girlfriend set up her things.
“To be continued,” he told her, smirking.
She glanced up, returning his look with a smoldering one of her own. “You got it.”
Tom laughed. The small interlude hadn’t exactly relaxed him, but it had definitely improved his mood. “Don’t tell her I said this, but Nele is right,” he said wryly. “You are the best.”
To his amusement, she blushed. She stepped around her ironing board and pulled the shirt he was wearing off him. “Give me that, it looks like you pulled it out of a dumpster.”
“No, I pulled it out of the dryer like that,” Tom smiled proudly. “I did all our laundry and I didn’t even melt any of the appliqués on Bill’s t-shirts this time.”
Erika patted his arm. “Well done, you.”
He nodded, pleased with himself. The laundry was one thing off his to do list. A lot more pressing matters remained, but none that he had any idea how to tackle yet. “I wish I knew how to find a publicist, too,” he sighed.
Public perception of the band was slowly changing, at least that was how it felt to Tom when he stood on stage, soaking up the cheers of the small town crowds. The radio stations still didn’t play their songs much, though, and the press person they needed had to have bite. After he’d slept on it repeatedly, he knew none of the people they’d interviewed had been enough of a hell hound to do the job.
Erika smiled at him encouragingly. “You will figure something out. Didn’t you like any of the people you saw?”
“Not really. We need someone tough. Someone who’ll make them afraid to not play our songs,” he thought aloud, distracted by the way the hoodie she wore rode up as she moved about, exposing strips of bare thigh above her long stockings. Somehow, he mused, even the annoying things didn’t seem as bothersome when he was telling them to her. He stretched his arms out over the back of the couch, sinking snugly into the cushions, admiring the view. “We need someone good. Someone who won’t just get us places, we can do that by ourselves. What we need is someone who’ll get us respect.”
Erika looked up from steaming his shirt. “Have you asked Nele?”
“Nele?” Tom made a face. “Why would I ask her?”
“You do know she’s a Journalism student, right? With an minor in Communications?”
“Not that you’d know it from the way she communicates,” Tom snorted.
“And you’re scared of her,” Erika continued, smirking.
“I respect her,” he protested. “She won’t take bullshit. That’s…good.” The truth of that sunk in slowly. Nele was sharp, witty, and she didn’t take no for an answer. She was also self-righteous in a really obnoxious way, but maybe that was what they needed: someone who would unapologetically stand up for the band’s interests. “You know, this idea isn’t half bad.”
“Oh, I know.” She released a cloud of steam from her iron, smiling at him through the mist. “Doesn’t mean she’ll take the job, though.”
Tom laughed derisively. “Nele would be lucky if we gave it to her!”
“Gave me what?” Nele asked, sauntering back in with a bowl of chips. She plopped down on the couch next to Tom and glared until he moved his arms and made room for her.
He eyed her warily, wondering if Erika was right. The girl definitely had something about her that demanded respect, from the haughty tilt of her chin to the sober way she dressed herself, bunny slippers notwithstanding. He’d seen her defend Erika from him with the viciousness of a harpy; it was one of Tom’s more unpleasant memories. Perhaps, he thought, terror was the feeling they needed to inspire in their press contacts.
He took a deep breath. “We might have a job for you.”
“What do you mean, ‘we’?” she asked, her thick eyebrows rising high on her forehead.
“We, the band. Tokio Hotel.”
Nele laughed derisively. “I thought you were letting everyone go?”
He huffed. “Well, it wouldn’t be a permanent job. More like a series of freelance projects.”
“You mean you need a cheap slave?” she summed the situation up all too accurately. “For what, exactly?”
“Press releases. Public relations. That sort of thing.”
“No way,” she stated outright. “Your image is fucked up. I don’t want to repair it.”
Tom grit his teeth. “Our image isn’t fucked up. It’s just…difficult.”
“Too difficult,” she said.
“Afraid of a challenge?” Tom countered. “Think you couldn’t do it?”
Nele’s jaw set tightly. “I could so do it. I just don’t want to.”
“Why not?” He switched gears, willing himself to relax back into the couch and put on his most winning smile.
“Because I want a job at a quality newspaper, and who’s ever going to take me seriously if I wrote press releases to be printed in Bravo?”
“You’d gain a lot of on-the-job experience,” Tom cajoled. “There’ll be tons to do once the new album drops. We really, really need you.”
“I bet you do,” she said archly. They stared each other down for a few moments. “Okay, say I did take this job, there’s a few things you’d have to promise me.”
He grinned, triumphant. “Such as?”
“No disrespecting of women,” she counted off her fingers. “No stupid Viagra stories.”
“We haven’t had a sex scandal in ages,” Tom pointed out. He didn’t miss those days either; the record company had really been getting desperate for publicity at that point.
“You’d have to work with me and be professional,” Nele said.
“We always are!”
“Good,” she nodded. “And also, if you hit anyone, I’m out.”
“Nele,” Erika chided gently.
Tom snorted. “I’m not going to hit anyone!”
“Are you sure? You’ve seemed pretty cranky lately,” Nele said snidely.
“That’s not his fault, he’s been having a hard time of it,” Erika said with finality. “Just do it, Nel. You’ll like it.”
“You think?” Nele’s attempt at a dark look fell flat when she looked at her friend, and Tom realized that he wasn’t the only one who could never deny Erika anything. “Fine, I probably would. I wouldn’t mind the travelling, anyway.” She pinned Tom with a look. “Okay. I’ll need to take a look at your press archives.”
“It’s all at the studio. There’s a whole lot,” Tom grinned.
“Don’t brag,” she told him sternly. “When can I go there to look?”
“Um, later today?” Tom shrugged. “We can drive down together.”
“Okay. We’ll do that,” Nele decreed. She grabbed the remote control off the coffee table and switched on the TV. “And now excuse me, I have a talk show to transcribe.”
The crowd in the bubblegum-colored studio cheered. Across the TV screen flashed the day’s discussion topic in bright pink letters. Help, my friend is obsessed with Tokio Hotel!
Tom released a long-suffering sigh. “You didn’t pick this one by accident, did you?”
The woman flashed him a scary grin. “Nothing I do is ever by accident.”
Working with her, Tom thought with an appreciative nod, would definitely be interesting. It was progress, anyway.